


No Virtue Like It

by derryderrydown



Series: Hooker Dean [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryderrydown/pseuds/derryderrydown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ickle hooker!Dean. I go with what I like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Virtue Like It

Dad's bleeding when he staggers into their shared motel room and kicks the door shut behind him.

Dean makes sure that Sammy is still asleep and rolls out of bed to help but Dad shakes him off and sits down on the ratty armchair. He lets Dean ease off his jacket, though, and his left shirt sleeve is soaked, dripping rags.

"Did you get it?" Dean asks, quietly so he doesn't wake Sammy.

"I got it," Dad says, just as quiet.

The tightness around Dean's chest loosens a little and he uses Dad's knife to cut off the remains of the plaid overshirt. Dad's black t-shirt is a little damp from splatters of blood but otherwise untouched. It's his forearm that's shredded. Dean can recognise clawmarks, rather than teeth, and that's a relief.

He wraps the shirt around Dad's arm and holds it tight. "Gonna need stitches," he says. "Antiseptic."

"You can do it."

Dean shakes his head. "The first aid kit's low. No butterfly stitches, no clean bandages."

Dad frowns. "It's your job to keep an eye on it, Dean."

"I tried to get more today but the cre-"

"I don't want to hear it." Dad's turning pale and it takes him a few moments to focus on his watch. Dean's pretty sure it's not because of the blood smeared on the face. "You should still be able to get some basics."

"I need anoth-"

"_Dean_." Dad wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just get what we need. Quick."

"But the _credit car-_"

"_Now!_"

Dean goes and he's sitting in the car, engine a comforting throb around him as he ignores the rain on the windshield and tries to figure out how the hell he's going to get the money for medical supplies when the credit card's maxed out and he's got three dollars and some shrapnel in his pocket.

He sighs. Theft's going to be difficult at this time of night, with no other customers to distract the staff, but it's not like he's swimming in choices. And every moment he waits is a moment that Dad's losing blood.

He thumps the steering wheel, then strokes it in absent apology as he pushes down on the gas and lets the Impala ease itself out of the parking spot.

He wants to find a 24-hour supermarket but the first place he comes to is a small convenience store. That's going to make it harder but Dad's waiting and Dean doesn't want Sammy to wake up to blood everywhere. Besides, he should have just sucked it up and stolen earlier, when it _wasn't_ an emergency. He needs to take responsibility, rather than relying on Dad. He's sixteen, for fuck's sake. It's not like he's still a kid.

He pulls his jacket over his head for the sprint to the store, rain hard against his legs and he can feel it plastering his shirt to the small of his back. It's a relief to drop the jacket back and shake his hair out of his eyes.

It's a guy behind the counter and he's already looking suspicious. Damn. "Lousy night," Dean says and the guy says nothing, just stares at Dean with dead eyes. Dean manages to keep his sarcastic comments inside and turns to browsing the aisles, trying to find something that'll tide Dad over till the morning.

He's not expecting to find anything for stitches but the surgical tape will do to hold the worst of it together till the morning. Add in the antiseptic, gauze and bandages and it should be okay.

He glances behind the counter and the guy's gone. It's too good an opportunity to pass up so Dean grabs what he needs and drops it into his inside pocket, then helps himself to a bag of peanut M&amp;Ms and a bottle of Pepsi on his way to the counter.

"Hey," he calls, and the guy appears out of nowhere, nearly making Dean jump.

The guy scans his soda and candy. "That it?"

"Yeah."

"You come out on a night like this, just for the sugar?"

"Little brother, man." Dean shrugs and he's far too aware of the supplies weighing down his pocket. "He wants candy, he wants candy."

The guy smiles and it makes the skin across Dean's shoulders tighten. He shouldn't have come here. He should have kept on looking for a Wal-Mart or a Target or a whatever-the-hell.

"Sure you got nothing else?"

"I'm in a hurry," Dean says and shoves a couple of dollar bills across.

The guy takes them, holds them, strokes them. "We got security cameras." He smiles. "I got you on film, kid."

Dean takes off, sneakers skidding on the linoleum, but he just bounces off the door. He rattles the handle but he knows it's pointless. "I don't have _time_." He widens his eyes, makes himself look as young and desperate as possible. "My dad - he's been-" _Clawed up by a werewolf_ probably isn't the right excuse.

"You could work it off," the guy says.

Dean looks at the guy. Thinks of Dad, probably slumped in the chair by now, shirt soaked through. "Fuck. Okay."

And the guy hadn't expected him to give it up that easily.

"I'm only blowing you," Dean says. "Nothing more."

"That'll do." The guy comes round to Dean's side of the counter and Dean realises he wants the cameras to record it. Perv.

He comes back to the counter, drops to his knees and pulls out the guy's cock. Thank fuck he's only seconds from coming anyway. A couple of yanks and Dean closes his mouth over the head. Tastes of soap which is a _huge_ fucking relief, considering what he was half-expecting.

What isn't a relief is the way the guy grabs the back of his head and shoves right in.

Dean fights his way off and glares up. "I know what I'm doing, okay."

The guy makes a big show of placing his hands on the counter, behind him, and Dean hates him for that.

But he's right, the guy is only seconds away from coming because Dean's only had a chance to lick over the slit once before there's semen hitting the roof of his mouth. A few seconds more, a few pulses more, and the guy leans back and sighs and Dean spits.

"Can I go now?"

"Sure." The guy's grin is heavy and sated and Dean just wants out of there. "Come back any time."

"Fuck you," Dean says and wishes he hadn't. But he grabs the M&amp;Ms and Pepsi before running for the door.

The Impala's home and Dean snugs into the driver's seat and takes a swig of Pepsi. After a moment, he helps himself to a handful of M&amp;Ms too, then checks that he's still got everything in his jacket pocket. Then it's just a case of getting back to the motel as fast as possible.

* * *

Dad's on his bed and Sammy's still fast asleep.

"Took your time," Dad says and Dean just shrugs.

Dad leads into the bathroom and holds his arm over the sink, pours the antiseptic over it. His jaw tightens but he doesn't make a sound, just pulls the slashes open and makes sure the antiseptic gets everywhere.

Dean watches. Learns.

Dad dries his skin and holds his arm out to Dean. Dean tries to match the cuts up as much as possible before applying the tape as a makeshift butterfly stitch.

"It's just overnight," Dad says.

Overnight is enough time for healing to start. Dad's always said that when he's patching up Dean. So Dean keeps trying to get everything lined up. Then he tapes a thick wad of gauze over the top and winds bandages over everything.

Dad twists his arm experimentally and nods. "It'll do."

* * *

Dad's driving, even though there's blood marking the bandage. If Dean was driving, they wouldn't pull in at this convenience store.

"Stay in the car," Dad says to Sammy. Sammy's lost in his book and doesn't pay any attention. Dad nods at Dean. "C'mon."

Dean wishes he could say no but he nudges the Impala's door shut behind him and follows Dad into the store, stepping round puddles.

It's the same guy behind the counter and he grins at Dean. "Back for more?"

Dad glances at Dean, eyebrow raised.

"I came here for the bandages," Dean mutters.

Dad's gaze shifts between him and the counter guy but he doesn't say anything, just heads towards the sandwiches. He gathers an armful of food before returning to the counter and handing over his credit card.

Dean doesn't bother telling him it'll be declined.

When it is, the counter guy looks at Dean. "You going to pay for this stuff, too?"

Dad frowns, pulls out another card and hands it over. This one goes through.

Once they're outside, Dad puts his hand on Dean's shoulder and steers him round the corner, invisible from the Impala. "What did you do, Dean?"

Dean fidgets. "I stole the stuff."

"And?"

"He caught me."

"Dean." Dad's voice is hard. "How did you pay for it?"

Fuck. "I blew him," Dean says quietly and he's half-expecting Dad to hit him.

All Dad does is take a deep, shuddering breath and then his hand clenches on Dean's shoulder. "Never again. _Never_."

"You _needed_ them," Dean says.

"I don't fucking _care_." Dad's voice is just a hiss. "_Never. Again._"

"Okay," Dean says.

He doesn't like lying to Dad. But there'll be a point when it's a choice between a blow job and letting down Dad and Sammy.

He knows he'll make the same choice he's made before.


End file.
